


I got lives in my hands and I'm fighting to make 'em change

by cait_the_great



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Brief homophobia, Pre-Series, and how she became the person she is, basically old money!danny, debutante
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:40:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cait_the_great/pseuds/cait_the_great
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny Lawrence knows that not everyone has it as good as she does, and that in fact most people have it far worse, so from an early age she tries to make up for the advantages she was born with. Or, Daniella Montgomery Lawrence, daughter of two of the oldest and richest families in South Carolina, bucks expectations and stubbornly insists on doing things her own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I got lives in my hands and I'm fighting to make 'em change

**Author's Note:**

> So this whole thing was inspired by a conversation with Caitlin, aka operativelawsons, in which I decided that Danny needed a Southern accent. It kinda spiraled from there. There's a bit of violence, elitism, and homophobia, but nothing horribly graphic. Title from Battle Cry by Angel Haze and thanks to Caitlin for the beta

You’re young the first time you notice it, young enough that age doesn’t have much relevance besides the thing adults always ask you about, crouched down to meet your eyes. You’re trailing along behind your mother in a store and your brother reaches out from his seat in basket of the cart and knocks several boxes and cans from the shelves. An employee comes running at the crash, face red and looking angry and frustrated, but as soon as he sees your mother he slows down and starts apologizing. “Mrs. Lawrence, hello, I’m so sorry at the mess, we’ll have this cleaned up right away, please, continue about your shopping.”

You look up to her mother, waiting for her to explain that no, it was Henry’s fault that there was a mess, not to worry about it, but instead she looks down her nose at the man and says, “See that you do. I’d hate to take my business elsewhere.”

 

After that, it’s impossible for you not to notice how differently you’re treated when you’re out with Mama and Daddy instead of your nanny. People are quick to do exactly what your parents ask, treating them with such deference that you briefly wonder if you’re a princess like Mulan or Belle. Then school starts, and for the first time in your life you’re spending more time away from your family than with them.

On your first day, Mama lays out your dress and tights and shoes, waiting impatiently for your tiny hands to finish brushing all the knots from your red hair. The moment you’re finished, she orders you into your nice new clothes, twisting her hands with nerves. You eat your breakfast quickly, waving goodbye to Jem the cook as Mama bundles you into the car. As you pull up to the school, Mama opens the passenger door and steps out, telling John to wait for her. You walk up to the door with your hand in hers and notice that most of the other kids don’t have their moms with them. They’re being walked up by women (and a few men) in uniforms and for a moment you feel lucky that Mama is taking you herself instead of having Nanny do it. Then Mama lets go of your hand and fixes her hair, pasting on a smile you recognize from Daddy’s parties.

“Mr. Deville, so lovely to see you,” she says to the man standing at the door of the school. “This is my daughter, Daniella, who’s starting kindergarten today.”

“Ah, yes, Mrs. Lawrence,” Mr. Deville sniffs. Something about him isn’t right, and you wish you could just go into your classroom. “So glad you were able to sort out your...troubles and join us today.”

Mama laughs her fake laugh and sends you into the building. You spend the day learning the names (the long, often hyphenated names) of your classmates and learning what school is and what to expect. You leave feeling less than impressed with everything. Your teacher was nice, but she seemed a lot more concerned about everyone thinking she was nice than actually teaching.

To your relief, when John opens the back door for you to hop in, Nanny is waiting instead of Mama. You tell her all about your first day, but you’re wondering if every day will be the same.

 

After two years at Kensington Prep, you’re royally sick of every single one of your classmates. They only ever seem concerned with money and status and who has what, and you always have the wrong things. There’s nothing you’d like more than to transfer to public school, a desire that might actually cause your mother to faint. You decide to bring up the issue with Daddy first; he’s not above spoiling you, and you’re not above exploiting that. You wait until after dinner when he’s settled in his office with a cigar and his newspaper before springing the question.

“Daddy, I don’t want to go to Kensington anymore. I want to go to Jackson Elementary like Maria does,” you announce, hands behind your back with your chin lifted, the way he’d taught you to stand when you wanted people to listen to you.

“Why do you say that, cub?” Daddy says from behind his paper.

“I think I’d like it better,” you say. You want to tell him how everyone is spoiled and no one really cares about anyone else, but he and Mama are friends with their parents, and you know he might not believe you.

“Well, do you still want to do all those summer camps with Rosa’s daughter?” he says, folding his paper and putting it in his lap, a sign that he’s paying attention finally.

“Yes sir. Maria and I already looked at the website for the YMCA and picked which ones we want to do.”

“I’ll make you a deal, kiddo. If you keep going to Kensington, your summers are yours to do whatever you want, including going to the...YMCA camps,” he says. You’re less than thrilled about staying at Kensington, but you know that Mama wants you to spend your summers at charm school and etiquette classes and dancing lessons, and you’d rather do pretty much anything else.

“It’s a deal,” you say, sticking out your hand to shake like he does with his friends. With a chuckle, he shakes before sending you off for homework and bed.

 

As you go through elementary and secondary school, Daddy honors your deal, even offering Henry the same one when he turns eight. Your brother doesn’t particularly care about what school he attends as long as he still has book and computer privileges, but, like you, he sees the advantage in having his summers to himself. Mama isn’t terribly pleased, because how are you ever supposed to get ready for your debut if you spend all summer running around outdoors with the children of the lower middle class? She never phrases it like that, but you know what she means. The summer before ninth grade, you’re in your room looking through a catalog of archery equipment when she comes in with her arms full of pamphlets.

“Daniella, darling, my alma mater just sent the most wonderful information in the mail.”

“Your alma mater? Mama, I already go to Kensington, why are they sending me more information?”

“Not Kensington, silly, Afton. My university!” she says brightly. You’d hoped you’d have a little longer before this conversation, at least another school year, but apparently it’s time. With a sigh, you set aside your catalog.

“Mama, we’ve talked about this. Afton doesn’t have any programs I’m interested in, and their women’s sports teams are a joke.”

“Every Montgomery women since my great-great-great-great grandmother has attended Afton, Danny,” she says. “I don’t want you to be the first to break that tradition.”

Fighting not to roll your eyes, you respond, “Since when am I about tradition, Mama? I don’t want to go to a school that close to home, anyway. The point of college is to get away from your parents a little, not live down the road from them.”

Rather than looking disappointed, Mama looks resigned. “I thought you might have that attitude, so I’d like to offer you a compromise. If you agree to spend your late afternoons and evenings taking comportment lessons, you may attend the university of your choice. What do you say?”

You know you’re being manipulated, but you know that your debut is more important to Mama than free evenings is to you, and the right university can change your entire future, so you shake on it.

 

Two weeks later, you’re standing in a ballroom surrounded by the rest of Charleston’s fourteen year old elite. A little old woman who you’re supposed to address as “Madame Lemay, never Miss or Mrs.” is going around and pushing couples together with her walking stick. You’ve already noticed that girls outnumber boys, and you fervently hope you’ll be one of the odd ones out. It’s bad enough dancing with a partner several inches shorter than you, but the boys tend to blame you for hitting your growth spurt first. Unfortunately, you’re prodded towards a boy you vaguely recognize from the society functions you’ve been attending since diapers.

“James Crenshaw Whittaker IV,” he says, holding out his hand. He’s perfected the air of snobbery that sets you on edge so much, and you can hardly wait for the lesson to be over.

“Danny Lawrence,” you say, pretending not to notice his hand. It’s petty, but you don’t want to be here and you certainly don’t want to be here with someone who thinks the world revolves around him.

“Danny Lawrence,” Whittaker says thoughtfully. “Of the Carolina Lawrences?”

“Well, this is South Carolina,” you snap.

“My daddy works with yours. Well, I suppose your daddy works for mine, but really that’s semantics.” Whittaker grins in a way that makes you want to punch him, but you promised Daddy you’d try.

Luckily, before either one of you can say something even more rude, Madame Lemay begins instructing. Before you know it, you’re being led around the room in the world’s clumsiest waltz. Although her methods are a little intense, Madame Lemay really knows her stuff.

“Jeez, this old crone needs to retire already, huh?” Whittaker says.

You stumble, losing the beat. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

He carries on, oblivious. “I mean, I know it can’t be easy being poor and unattractive, but being old as well? Why would she even try to interact with the upper crust?”

“Whittaker, I swear to god, could you take that diamond covered stick out of your ass for hot second and think about someone besides yourself? Madame Lemay enjoys her work, and she’s good at it!” you say. The two of you have come to a dead halt in the middle of the dance floor and all other activity has ceased.

“Well, if she’s as good as you say, then she’d be as rich as I am and she wouldn’t have to work at all,” Whittaker smirks. Before you even fully register what he’s said you’ve brought your knee up into his stomach. He doubles over and Madame Lemay finally intervenes, pulling you aside. You aren’t certain, but you think you see a small smile on her wrinkled face.

 

It’s the last weekend before junior year starts and you’ve just gotten your license. You take the beat-up pickup that you saved forever to buy, refusing your parents’ offers to help, and pick up Maria Castillo, your best friend since childhood, for one last night on the town before weekends revert back to study time. You’ve got the windows rolled down and are blasting Van Morrison as the two of you pull up to your favorite ice cream shop.

You and Maria were eight the first time you came here, the two of you tagging along behind her mother Rosa as she did her errands. You’ve been coming here ever since, thanks to a combination of the shop’s excellent homemade peach ice cream and its location, which was far enough into suburbia that the odds of you seeing any of your schoolmates was low. That’s why you’re surprised to see a kid you recognize as one of Henry’s friends standing outside, looking nervous. Before you can point him out to Maria, two boys you definitely recognize come out of the shop.

“Dan, isn’t that the kid you beat up at dance class?” Maria says, grinning. She’d heard the story and its many retellings in the days after the...incident, when you were trying to persuade your mother that he’d deserved it and your father that you didn’t need to quit your karate lessons.

“I didn’t beat him up, and yeah, that’s him and one of his sycophants,” you say, keeping your eyes on the three boys. If you know Whittaker, he’s up to no good, and sure enough, he and his friend start crowding the younger boy. Whittaker raises his fist and starts laughing when the kid flinches. You quickly shut off the engine and jump out of your truck, Maria on your heels.

“Hey boys, what’s going on here?” In the two years since you last saw him, Whittaker has grown and towers over Henry’s friend, but you’ve still got four inches on him.

“Nothing for you to concern yourself, Lawrence. You and your… _friend_ can just go on about your days,” he sneers.

“Is that true, Price?” Maria asks. The kid shakes his head, clearly terrified.

You step closer to Whittaker, getting in his space, and say, “I’m asking you one more time. What’s going on?”

“Well, if you must know,” his friend drawls from behind you, reminding you of his presence. “This little queer has decided that it’s acceptable to try and bring his little partner in crime to our fall formal. We were going to...persuade him otherwise.”

Your fists clench and you know your face is bright red. Putting yourself between Price and Whittaker, you pass your keys to Maria. “Ri, take Price and head down the block for some Slurpees, if you don’t mind.” She gets the message and hauls the kid out of there.

“Lawrence, you can’t seriously be suggesting we brawl in public like some low-rent thugs, can you?” Whittaker asks.

“I think brawl might be too strong of a word. I’m here to have a civil conversation with some future community leaders about the rampant homophobia and bullying in our schools,” you say, leaning back against the wall with feigned casualness.

“Jesus, Red, why do you even care? What are you, gay?” Whittaker’s friend says. The exasperation in his tone finally helps you place him. Wesley Abernathy, the son of some senator or another who was just on the local news for crashing yet another expensive car.

“Bi, actually, and a decent human to boot. Got a problem with that?” There’s a challenge in your tone and for a minute, the three of you stand there, tension making the lazy summer air thick, each of you watching for the other to make a move. As much as you’d love to give these guys a beating, you’ve promised your dad you wouldn’t start any more fights. Of course, if they hit you first, you’re not starting it.

As though he’s heard your thoughts and decided to make your day, Whittaker takes a swing at you. You dodge him and his fist hits the brick wall. As he’s shaking out his hand, swearing loudly at and about you, Abernathy comes lumbering at you, arms up to try and compensate for your height difference. You lower your shoulder and ram him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. You hear Whittaker behind you and duck just as he lunges, using his momentum to send him flying over you and onto the ground by Abernathy.

Before you can do anything else, the shop owner runs out. After your years of patronage, she knows you, and she asks what happened. You give her a brief rundown of the events, and she nods.

“Get out of here, Danny. These two are banned from the shop, and if either of them tries to press charges, my wife and I will testify that you were just defending yourself.” With a grateful hug, you go down the block to meet Maria and Price.

“Jesus Christ, Daniella, you’ve got to stop this. You’re not a superhero, ok?” Maria says when you open the passenger door. Price is gone, presumably rescued by a parent or driver.

“I dunno, I kinda feel like one,” you grin, trying to play it off.

Maria glares as she puts the truck in gear and heads towards her house. “Seriously, Danny, I don’t want my mom to come home one day and tell me that you’ve been put in the hospital by some thug.”

You drive the rest of the way to her house in silence. As you’re walking her to the door, she pauses for a minute before going up on her toes to kiss your cheek. “Take care of yourself, Danny.”

“Uh, yeah, you too,” you say, dazed. Your drive home is filled with confusion.

 

The day you’ve been semi-dreading for so long is finally here. Your mother comes into your room at some god-awful hour, throwing your curtains open with a far too cheery smile. “Danny, darling, time to get up! You’ve got hair and makeup appointments early, and you must be ready for your stylist! And what time is your date picking you up again?”

“Mother, we’ve been over this. I don’t have a date, Henry’s going to escort me.” It’s way too early for you to want to do anything besides bury yourself in blankets for the foreseeable future, but you’d rather just get everything over with.

“Where is your dress, Daniella? The one we picked out?” Mama calls from your closet.

“Mama, I told you I’m not going to debut in pink. I don’t care if it’s the Montgomery tradition dating back to your great great great whatever, the Montgomerys are all blonde. In case you haven’t noticed, I have Lawrence hair, and red and pink are a no. I’ve taken care of my outfit, don’t worry,” you say in exasperation.

“It wasn’t pink, Danny, it was blush,” Mama says, but you can tell you’ve already won.

“Pink is pink, Mama. I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast, ok?” After she’s left, you roll out of bed and put on your favorite t-shirt and jeans. You won’t be allowed to wear them long, but you’d like to at least try and start the day off on a positive note.

After breakfast, John takes you to a makeup artist, which is apparently a profession that exists and thrives during debut season, and a hair stylist. They both ask what color your dress is and you check to make sure there’s none of your mother’s friends in the salon when you tell them your plan. You leave for home feeling somewhat ridiculous with your fully made up face and fancy updo.

Once home, you do the requisite check-in with Mama to show off your styles, but before she can ask you again about what you’re wearing Henry diverts her by asking what time she’s supposed to help with set-up.

“Thanks, H,” you say, grabbing him in a friendly headlock like you did when the two of you were small.

“No problem. Besides, I can’t wait to see her face when we show up,” he grins.

“Yeah. Let’s just hope it goes well,” you say. “C’mon, time to get dressed.”

The two of you split up and you go and take your suit out of its garment bag in the linen closet, where your mother wouldn’t find it and spoil the surprise. You’re pretty proud of the outfit, honestly. Maria had helped you with the details, the two of you spending hours scrolling through online catalogs to find the exact right vest and tie combination, debating on cuts and styles. You’d finally settled on a dark grey suit with a royal blue paisley vest and a blush pink tie and pocket square in the exact shade of the dress Mama had wanted you to wear.

Henry knocks at your door and the two of you look each other over. Getting your t-shirt off without mussing your hair had been a challenge, but you think you’d managed, and Henry gives you his seal of approval. At fifteen, he’s finally grown into his lanky limbs and figured out a haircut that makes his strawberry blonde hair look significantly less dorky than his junior high self. In his tux and with the trademark Lawrence smile, he looks ready to take on the world.

“Ready, sis?”

“Let’s do this.”

 

According to your mother, your debut would go down in Charleston history as one of the biggest shocks of the night, but according everyone else, including the society paper that you were for some reason subscribed to, that honor would go to Wesley Abernathy getting sloppily drunk and passing out on his date. The only mention of you was to say that “though untraditional, Daniella Montgomery Lawrence was radiant making her debut, escorted by her brother Henry.” Daddy had loved your outfit, and Mama had tears in her eyes over the pink. You were glad that the two of them were happy, because the news that you’d accepted an offer from a college in Austria was going to be a bit of a shock.

 

Your first day at Silas University is overwhelming to say the least. Your parents and brother help you carry all your stuff up to your miniscule dorm room, but they’re off to the airstrip before you can do much more than say goodbye. As he’s leaving Henry gives you one last hug, and you muss his hair and tell him you’ll miss him.

You’re standing at the end of your bed trying to figure out how exactly you’re going to find a home for everything you brought with you when the door opens. You know from a weird multiple choice letter that your roommate’s name is Mel, but that’s not really enough information for you to be comfortable with a total stranger, so you’re prepared for anything. To your relief, the girl who opens the door looks normal and about as nervous as you feel.

“Hi, I’m Danny Lawrence,” you say, stepping over a box of books to offer her your hand.

“Mel,” she responds, and you’re almost surprised when she doesn’t ask if you’re of the Carolina Lawrences. “Where you from, Georgia or something?”

“South Carolina, actually,” you say, running one hand back through your hair. “Is it that obvious?”

“You sound like you just walked off a plantation, Lawrence,” Mel says, though not unkindly. You make a mental note to work on your accent and the two of you set to unpacking. You notice that unlike you, Mel doesn’t have anyone accompanying her. When you ask, she just shrugs and says, “Dad couldn’t get leave and Mom didn’t want to travel alone. Air Force,” she clarifies before you can ask.

Before you know it, it’s time for another round of awkward socialization in the form of orientation events. You meet some people who seem cool, like a kid missing half of one of their eyebrows named Lafontaine and their friend/girlfriend Perry, and some people who remind you a lot of the kids from high school, like a guy named Theo wearing an honest-to-gods “Cool story babe” shirt. There’s also a guy hanging towards the edge of the crowd looking like a kicked puppy, and you excuse yourself from a conversation Mel is having with a blonde girl to talk to him.

“Hey, I’m Danny, from Charleston, planning to major in English,” you introduce yourself with what you’ve quickly discovered are the three most important things at college orientation.

“Uh, Wilson Kirsch. You can call me Kirsch. Or Wilson. Or something else,” he says. For a tall guy, he seems really shy and withdrawn. He pushes up his glasses nervously and looks like he’s on the verge of running out of the room.

“What’s your major, Kirsch?” You hope you can help put him at ease. He seems sweet, and even with his too-short pants and geeky t-shirt he’s pretty cute.

“I’m hoping for a double in calculus and theoretical mathematics,” he says, looking about two inches above your head instead of your eyes.

“Dude, that’s super cool!” You’re not a huge fan of theoretical mathematics, but you respect anyone who gets numbers enough to major in it, especially as half of a double. Kirsch lights up at your compliment, and the two of you spend the rest of the mixer chatting and exchanging stories. You discover that you share the same intro English and intro calc classes. At the end of the night, you ask for his phone and put your number in so that you can meet up to help each other with classes. You’re barely back to your home for the year when your phone buzzes with a thank-you message.

It’s almost finals week and you’re in your room reading a seemingly endless text on the military campaigns of Austria when Mel bounces in. She’s more animated than you’ve seen her since the time Theo slipped on the quad and faceplanted into a snowbank. “Lawrence, I was just at the post office, and you’ll never believe it. I got an invite to pledge to the Summer Society!”

“Wait, that all-girl athletic group?” You vaguely remember hearing something about a feud they had with some frat boys, but you can’t recall details.

“Athletics, service, you name it.”

“Mel, that’s great!” Your roommate loves the idea of belonging to something, and you can’t blame her for that.

“You’ve got an envelope too, though.” Mel passes it to you and waits eagerly for you to open it. When you hold up the invitation that matches hers, a grin splits her face and you both start laughing.

Later that night at your weekly study group with Kirsch, you mention the invite to him and he seems to wilt. As the semester has progressed, he’d gotten a little more confident and a little less awkward, but you were pretty sure that, along with Laf, Perry, and sometimes Mel, you were his only friend.

“Hey, Kirsch, have you ever thought about joining any of the campus groups?”

“I dunno, D-bear, most of them seem to be the kinda guys who don’t really get along with former mathletes,” he says doubtfully.

His assessment is, unfortunately, mostly true. “Well, whenever I’d have to attend society events back home, the gross ones with all the rich douchebags, my best friend would tell me to just find the part of myself that agreed with some part of them on something, even if it was really small, and pretend that was the main part of my personality.”

“That’s… really unhelpful.”

“It’s like this. If you like baseball and basketball but despise football and you want to be civil with someone who despises basketball but likes baseball and football, you only talk about baseball. That way, you’re able to get along without pissing each other off.” Your explanation doesn’t make much sense to you, but you can’t quite remember the way Maria had explained it. Ever since the two of you split to go to school, she’s become more of a fond memory than a real presence in your life.

“Sure,” Kirsch replies, clearly unsure. “Can we go back to something that makes sense?”

You look at the stack of problem sets full of polysyllabic functions and groan.

 

The initiation process into the Summer Society isn’t nearly as difficult as you expect, just basic archery, hand-to-hand combat, and tactical skills. Mel struggles a bit with the last, so you take to trading tips and strategies back and forth while the two of you are trying to fall asleep. You spend the summer on campus, writing to your parents that after all, it is the _Summer_ Society. Henry flies out to spend half of July with you, and even if some of your sisters aren’t too thrilled about having a boy around, even the most stubborn have to admit that he’s a good strategist and a better shot after he saves all your necks during the annual Kraken Hunt/Capture the Flag extravaganza.

By the time your sophomore year starts, you’re closer than you ever thought was possible with the SumSoc girls. You’d tried to keep in touch with your friends from last year over the break, but between your jam-packed schedules and Lafontaine’s tendency to involve their phone in experiments, you hadn’t had a lot of contact. It’s a surprise, therefore, when you see Kirsch, the same puppy of a kid you’d tried so hard to explain Old English literature to, on the quad with Zeta Omega Mu trying to recruit unsuspecting freshmen. The gangly guy you’d studied with was gone, replaced with a beefcake with a buzzcut. The only sign of your friend is the calculator hanging out of the back pocket of his cargo shorts. He’s talking to a shorter guy with dark hair and the posture of a bouncer when he spots you.

“D-Bear!” he greets you, bounding over. “Dude, how was your summer? See any hotties? Besides in the mirror, I mean.”

“Wilson, what the hell happened?” You’re astonished, to say the least.

“Whoa whoa whoa, no Wilson. It’s Kirsch now. Just Kirsch.” He looks around to see if any of his Zeta bros heard you, but relaxes when none of them make themselves known. “And I took your advice! I found the parts that fit and now I’ve got a crew of bros.”

“That’s...great,” you say. You make conversation about your respective summers for a few minutes before Elsie, one of the older Summers, grabs you and pulls you away.

“Danny, I know it’s your first year, but we don’t talk to Zetas. Gotta keep the feud alive and keep us winning, right?” she says with a grin.

“That’s just Kirsch, though. We were friends all last year.” Even if Kirsch is Frat 2.0 now, you don’t want to just dump him and move on.

“Sorry, sis. Once you join, you gotta abide,” Elsie shrugs.

You try and remember where in the extensive packet of by-laws that particular code was, but before you can think to hard Mel is at your side dragging you to a party, one of the first of the year. You leave pretty early since classes start the next day. You managed to score a TA position with your favorite English professor, and you don’t want to spend your first day hungover and bleary. As you walk across campus to the Summer house, you see a weird shadow on the edge of the woods. It looks almost like a giant cat, but when you turn for a closer look, hand on the dagger you’ve started carrying, it’s gone.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Pls feel free to validate me with comments and/or kudos. You can find me on tumblr at caitestthegreatest


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